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tell me where

the mouth was supposed to meet with the words.

tell me where the physical connection

is meant to find the mental.

I mean, / Oh, right. It isn't

I mean, I’m still asking.

I spent the first half of the summer simmering in wait,

jittery in the movie theater,

fantasizing in the library.

the world a rollercoaster of risk, hands and stomachs, eager

to hurtle down the severed tracks.

There is no spontaneity in continuous free fall but I am still

expectant. The broken tracks and

my ghost in the lake.

a kiss would be

a welcome surprise but

you keep talking.

as prescribed by the stars.

the heart: torn by the wind,

the mind / separating

until it's over.

and instead of losing yourself / or settling in someone else's arms you find yourself

sick with memory

and home alone


anna arden is a 25-year old nonbinary bisexual poet-disaster with a creative writing degree who cries about the planets, warm weather, loneliness, and how much they love their dog. their mini-chap, acts of performative newness, is out with emerge journal in 2022. you can find them yelling about all this and more on their twitter @ardentlywritten.

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